


Monty Got A Raw Deal

by der_tanzer



Series: Puppy Love [2]
Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-19
Updated: 2010-05-19
Packaged: 2017-10-09 14:04:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/88257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/der_tanzer/pseuds/der_tanzer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scotty can handle anything, except when he thinks it's his fault.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Monty Got A Raw Deal

**Author's Note:**

> Rated R for sex, death (non-canon characters), and angst.  
> Title is, of course, borrowed from REM.  
> Beta by oddmonster, my partner in Trek.

Chekov was on the bridge when it happened, well aware of what was going on and unable to help. It was taking all of his concentration, and Sulu's, to hold the ship steady and keep power to the shields. They were under attack from a planet where negotiations for peace had gone awry, the captain noting dryly that the Dinemicks wouldn't be joining the Federation this year after all, but the jokes were over now. At this moment, the crew was focused on only two things: retrieving the delegation from the planet's surface and getting the ship out of range of that weapon. There was also the slight possibility that Kirk might decide to blow hell out of the planet, but not until their people were safely aboard. Chekov knew Sulu was looking forward to that, he liked firing weapons as much as he did flying, but Chekov was thinking only of shields and the situation in the transporter room where Scotty was trying to save their delegates. He was the only person on the ship who was more qualified than Chekov himself, but Pavel knew enough to know they wouldn't make it. And there was nothing he could do but sit here in front of his console and watch it all play out.

Commander Spears, a special protégé of Mr. Spock's who was being groomed for first officer of _The Fidelis_, had led the team, and when Chekov spared a glance over his shoulder, he saw Spock's impassive eyes watching the view-screen, only a little tightness in his jaw giving away his quiet despair. Two lieutenants and an ensign had gone along, Cope and Spokes, of the diplomatic corps, and Ensign Hall, who occupied Chekov's seat during Gama shift. He didn't know the diplomats too well, but he liked Hall. They had been roommates one year at the academy, but hadn't had much of a chance to catch up in the two months since Hall had been assigned to the Enterprise. And now, feeling the shock of photon torpedoes weakening their shields, hearing Scotty's panicked voice on the comm as he struggled to lock on fading signals, and most of all, catching glimpses of Spock's tight jaw, he knew he never would. Hall and Spears, and the Lieutenants along with them, weren't coming back.

***

There was a debriefing in the captain's ready room after the change of shifts. The Enterprise was easing along under impulse power while repairs were made, and Scotty wanted to be in engineering overseeing them. That was where he belonged. He no longer felt qualified to operate transporters or talk about advanced theories. He was a repairman, a simple mechanic, and now they weren't letting him do even that.

He wanted a drink.

Chekov sat beside him, thoughts of wodka on his mind, seeing Spock's tense jaw everywhere he looked, and the bright red TERMINATED overriding his crewmate's biosigns when he closed his eyes. After a moment, he realized the room had fallen silent, an expectant hush, and his cheeks burned. Someone must have asked him a question. But when he made himself meet the captain's eyes, they weren't looking back at him. Everyone was looking at Scotty, who only stared at the tabletop. Carefully, hoping the movement wouldn't be noticed, he slid his hand over Scotty's knee and squeezed gently.

"Aye?"

"Ze keptin iz speaking to you," he hissed, unable to control his accent as much he would have wanted to, choking on the words.

Scotty shook his head and struggled to meet Kirk's eyes. He was surprised at the kindness he found there and it gave him the courage to ask what had been said.

"I asked if there was anything you wanted to add. I know you'll be writing your official report soon, but we're here to lay everything on the table, right?"

"Aye. But I've nothing to say, sir. I failed in my duty to you, and to my colleagues, and any actions yer wishing to take, I'll accept."

"Actions? Why, Mr. Scott? Do you think you're somehow at fault?"

"If I'm not, then who is?"

"The Dinemicks, of course," Mr. Spock evenly. "That is not up for debate."

"In that case, I'd just as soon go back to my quarters. If it's all right with you."

Kirk gave him a nod, sad and slightly puzzled, and Scotty was gone at once. Chekov turned to watch him go, then looked back at the captain. He received a nod as well, this one knowing with a touch of command. They were both off duty, but Chekov had a job still to do. He rose and went out, hearing conversation resume as the door slid closed. But so far as Chekov could tell, nothing of any real importance had been said, nor could be. This disaster was no one's fault but the Dinemicks', as Spock had said, and Starfleet would deal with them. He tried for a moment to wrap his mind around the power of trading sanctions and then let it go. He was a physicist and a navigator, not a politician. And right now he had more important things to worry about.

His worries doubled when he requested entry to Scotty's quarters and got no answer. After the door chime was ignored three times, he punched in the override code and stepped inside.

The room was dim, bordering on dark, but he could see Scotty sitting at the desk, pouring real alcohol into a glass that was too big, even for a Scotsman.

"I don' remember saying you could come in," he said without turning around.

"You would keep me out?" Pavel asked, crossing the room and laying his hands on Scotty's back. "You would rather sit here alone in ze dark and drink?"

"I'd like to be sitting in the dark and drinking," he acknowledged. "But I guess I din na' need to be alone."

Pavel reached over his shoulder and took the bottle, set it on the floor just out of Scotty's reach, and then turned to sit on the desk.

"Talk to me, Monty. This is what I am here for."

"There's nothing to say, lad. I failed and those people—_our_ people—died. I am na' fit to hold my post."

"No," Pavel said, shaking his head sadly. "I know why you think this, Monty, but it is not true. Remember when it happened to me? Remember how wery unhappy I was, and all ze things you said to reassure me?" His soft hand was light on Scotty's cheek, not trying to turn his head, just resting there, a single warm spot on chilled skin.

That was the beginning of their relationship, really. Scotty had been deeply impressed when he heard of Chekov's feat, saving Kirk and Sulu on Vulcan, and had made a point of seeking out the young navigator to congratulate him. By this time, Chekov had also heard of Scotty's trans-warp beaming capabilities and looked at him like a hero. Or would have, if his own feelings of triumph had not been shaken by the death of Spock's mother. He'd told Scotty that night, over bottles of Scotch and vodka, that he felt like he'd gone from a boy to a man in that moment. A single moment that encompassed both his greatest success and his greatest failure. Adrenaline and despair churned in his gut, and he'd fled Spock's shattered eyes to throw up and then weep hysterically in the restroom ten yards away. No one had come to find him, or even noticed he was gone. But the crying jag had passed and he'd returned to work, because the day wasn't over yet.

"I was lucky, was I not? There was work left to do that day and I did not have time to sit in ze dark and despair."

"You were still pretty low when I found you, laddie," he said, raising his eyes for the first time.

"Da. I still needed to talk to someone, and you were there for me. As I am trying to be here for you now."

"Aye, love. And yer doing a good job, but is na' the same."

"Is not?" He ran his hand back along Scotty's cheek and into his hair, cradling his head and making him feel warmer than the whiskey ever could.

"No, laddie. I'm the chief engineer, am I not? I'm supposed to be the expert on transporter physics. Best in the universe, they say. And yet Commander Spock's friend is dead, an' that nice Lieutenant Cope who was so interested in warp dynamics. Remember how he used to lurk around engineering, trying not to ask questions?"

Suddenly Pavel _did_ remember, and his breath hitched a little as he tried to collect his thoughts again.

"Da. I remember," he said, tugging gently at Scotty's hair.

"It's my job, don't you see? And what you did—well, not to take anything away from yer accomplishment, but it was something of a fluke, was na' it? You had a grand idea and you pulled it off, but it was na' yer job. Ye weren't expected to succeeded, and no one blamed ye when ye couldn't do it again."

Pavel took a deep breath, deciding this wasn't the time to discuss job descriptions and power positions in times of crises.

"Zat iz probably true," he sighed, aware that he was losing control of his accent again and not caring. Scotty always understood him. "But it does not change ze facts. Ze Dinemicks held our people unlawfully, da? Zey had technology to block our transporters, and our ship was heawily damaged. Zere was nothing you could do, was zere?"

"Och, I dunno. Maybe, if I'd had just a little more time, I could've come up with something. If I'd been able ta think just a little faster… Like you can think when you need to. Maybe if you'd been in charge doon there, ye'd've had another of those grand ideas."

"Another fluke, you mean?" he asked, leaning down and kissing Scotty's forehead.

"Aye, well, maybe I should na' have said that."

"Maybe is true," he shrugged, pleased to hear his English recovering. "But I do not care, Monty. All I care about now is that you do not blame yourself for what could not be helped. I may only be an ensign nawigator with the occasional grand idea, but I know you did all you could. I could tell from ze bridge that it could not end any other way."

"Could ye now?" he asked, leaning around Pavel to pick up his glass. He took a long drink, looked around for the bottle, and then drained the glass with a shrug.

"Da. And do you want to know what I was thinking?"

Scotty very nearly said no, then decided that his darling Pasha wouldn't have offered to tell him if it was going to be painful.

"I was sad, of course. Ensign Hall was my friend. But mostly I was thinking of you and how terrible you would feel that you could not save them. There was nothing you could do, l'ubimaya. Not you or me or anyone. Anyone who was at that station today would be mourning tonight. But not eweryone would have someone like me to understand."

"Bugger all," he sighed, laying his head on Pavel's skinny thighs, wrapping his arms around the narrow waist. Suddenly he was sobbing and Pavel cradled his head, stroking his thinning hair tenderly.

"Is okay, l'ubimaya," he whispered. "Ewerything is okay."

Scotty wept for a long time, but in the end he went to bed without picking up the bottle again.

***

"How long did it take, love?" he asked, nuzzling Pavel's bare chest.

"How long did what take?" Chekov replied, hugging him loosely, petting his fine red hair.

"Before ye stopped feeling so bad aboot Amanda Grayson? I know getting drunk wit' me that night was a help, but you were off your feed for a day or two, and then you got better. I never knew why."

"It was still mostly you. The time we spent together, you distracting me with physics and then taking me to bed. If you remember, Monty, we were sleeping together a week later. And I spoke with Mr. Spock, as well."

"Ye—ye did?"

"Of course. After the way I ran from the transporter room, it was necessary to speak with him at some point. I met him off duty that ewening when you and Mr. Keenser were doing the orientation for the new ensigns. Remember, you asked me to help and I said I had appointment? He spoke to me exactly as he did to you tonight, when he told you that ze Dinemicks were to blame. He also said that I was a fine officer and a first class nawigator, and that I should not let one accident spoil a promising career. He said that Starfleet needs me, as it needs you, Monty. As _I_ need you."

Scotty drew a deep, shuddering, sigh and shifted his body more on top of Pavel. It hadn't been a foregone conclusion that lying naked in bed together would lead to sex. Chekov would have been content to offer just the comfort of his warm skin and beating heart. But when Scotty kissed him, he began to grow hard at once. Sometimes it was good to be seventeen. He spread his legs, let the bigger man settle in, and raised his hips invitingly. Scotty groaned softly, buried his face in Pavel's slender neck, and rocked on him until his own cock was hard. He shifted, rubbed it gently over Pavel's shaft, and then pressed firmly against his flat, toned stomach. It was warm and moist, there between their bodies, and as soon as Pavel moaned, real desire flared up inside him where before he had only wanted consolation.

"You need me?" he whispered, licking softly at Chekov's ear.

"Aye," Pavel said. "I need you, l'ubimaya. More than I have ewer needed anyone." His words were becoming blurred and indistinguishable as his accent grew thicker. By the time he lapsed into Russian, Scotty had long since lost track.

***

"Do you feel better?" Pavel asked, snuggling under Scotty's arm, resting his head on the solid chest.

"Well, I feel tired," he said, kissing the damp curls softly. "Like maybe I can sleep."

"Is better than being drunk, no?"

"Aye, love. Although 'tis a bit _like_ being drunk. I don' know what I'd do without you, ye wee mad Russian."

"Is not worth thinking about," he laughed, biting Scotty's nipple lightly.

"Stop that, Pasha. Aren't you tired?"

"Nyet," he said, bold and sassy.

"You are. I can feel your heart pounding."

"Maybe that is because I am excited."

"Are you, now?" Scotty teased, reaching down to feel him. Pavel gasped softly, his cock stiffening in that large, strong hand. He'd been joking, his rapid heartbeat really was a sign of exhaustion, but as soon as his lover touched him, he was ready. "My God, boy, you're insatiable, aren't you?"

"Only for you," he giggled, sending a thrill down Scotty's spine and making his limp prick twitch with renewed interest.

"What are you going to do about it, then?"

"How about this?" He rose up on his hands and kissed Scotty's chest, lapping up salt sweat like a cat, working his way down the soft belly and drawing the stiffening erection into his mouth.

It was stifling under the sheet, the smell of sex and hot bodies overwhelming, but Chekov gloried in it, wallowed in the evidence of their love and in his lover's desire for him. He sucked and swallowed, coating his throat with bitter pre-come, probing the most sensitive spots with the tip of his tongue. He was willing, just this once, to put the other man's needs first, to make him come so he could sleep soundly, not asking anything for himself. Even though his own balls were throbbing by now, even though he'd had to prove his preparedness to make this happen.

But Scotty, whether he was aware of the impending sacrifice or not, had other ideas. He wound his hand in Pavel's thick curls and pulled roughly, his cock sliding from those plump lips with an audible pop.

"Monty," he gasped, and didn't have time for more. The next thing he knew, he was face down on the bed, the bigger man forcing his legs apart, stroking him with spit-slick fingers. Pavel took a bare moment to assess the situation, then bent his knees and pushed back. It burned, but he wasn't new at this and Scotty was gentle, teasing and stretching him while he reached for the lube with his other hand. Cool gel touched him, worked deep inside, followed by the thick shaft invading his body. He felt Scotty's restraint, felt him trembling as he fought not to thrust and shove, and bucked up hard against him.

"Och, Pasha," he cried, trying to pull back, but Pavel followed. He was younger, smaller and on the bottom, but he would still have his way. Helpless to resist, Scotty wrapped an arm around his waist and hauled him up closer, sinking deeper, bearing Pavel down under his weight and sobbing on his shoulder. Cursing and crying, his words a jumbled mix of English and Scottish Gaelic, he pushed the smaller body into the mattress and fucked him hard, his ears ringing with Pavel's eager groans. He came to Pavel's babbled Russian pleas, unintelligible as words, but the intent unmistakable. For long moments he kept thrusting, unable to break the connection, and when he finally pushed himself up and gripped Pavel's cock, the younger man came at once.

"Are ye a'right, Pasha?" he panted, collapsing in a heap beside the boy. Pavel was shaking, barely able to turn his head, and Scotty gathered him close, cradled safely in his arms.

"Da, da," Chekov said absently, even now lipping at Scotty's neck. "What about you? Will you sleep now?"

"I would have anyway, love. You didn't need to do this."

"Yes I did. I know you, l'ubimaya. You would have fretted all night, but not now. Now you will sleep, and it will all be better in the morning. This is life on a starship, Monty. It is hard, but it goes on just the same."

"Aye, you're right. But it's easier to say when you're not the one with deaths on your conscience, isn't it?"

"I suppose. But who knows? Tomorrow it may be me again. And then you will be the one who says these things while I drink wodka and pretend it is not so."

"Fair enough, laddie," he sighed, kissing the damp curls one more time. "Fair enough."


End file.
